


The Upward Spiral

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: pornish_pixies, M/M, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-01
Updated: 2006-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Upward Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> For the Voyeurism Challenge at Pornish Pixies. Dedicated to themostepotente, who inspired me to write Sluggy again.

It was an accident, really. Peter had put too much heartsease in his and Remus's cauldron — he knew it was too much, just knew he'd never get it right — and when it boiled over he backed up too hastily and knocked into Slughorn's desk, and one of the small glass phials (which always lined the edge of it) tipped, fell, and shattered.

The class was still for a moment, as Peter looked down in dismay at the mess of cloudy, viscous fluid spilt on the stone floor. Then scattered laughter, and a resumed bustle.

'God, Peter, why can't you be careful.' Remus's voice was low and strained as he worked on mopping up their potion.

At the next desk, Sirius only smirked as James waved his wand idly over their cauldron, turning their potion an easy turquoise.

'Pettigrew,' Slughorn snapped from behind him. Peter jerked round and was surprised at the stern frown, the reddened face. Slughorn usually humoured him. Not this time. 'That'll be detention.' He cleared up the shattered glass with a sharp word, and squeezed down the aisle towards the back of the class, where Snape and Rosier had begun snarling at each other again.

'What could've been in there that was so important?' Peter said morosely, crushing another batch of heartsease so they could begin again.

'It actually looked like a Pensieve thought,' Remus mumbled, head bowed to scrutinise the textbook's instructions.

'Memories of fine dining,' drawled Sirius, making an expansive gesture at the glimmering row of phials. James snickered.

Peter didn't answer. The juice of the heartsease felt puckery on his fingertips.

*

There was no one else but Peter at Slughorn's detention; he hardly ever gave any. As Peter dutifully skinned and boned the dead white mice (he wondered if Slughorn was too squeamish to do this task himself), the glint of glass on the professor's desk proved a constant distraction. He realised he was being even slower at this than usual.

After half an hour, Slughorn began to look bored. He put his book aside and began glancing at his watch every few minutes.

'Should I bother with the paws?' Peter asked needlessly, the feeling of an idea forming in the back of his mind.

Slughorn let out a weary sigh that ruffled his moustache. 'Yes, you should. Goes into certain draughts, you know.'

He looked at his watch.

'Did you like the upside-down cake at dinner tonight?'

Slughorn gave Peter a funny look. 'Don't know how you can think about food while you're... Yes. It was quite lovely, now you mention it.'

The watch again.

Slughorn licked his lips.

'Pettigrew, you wouldn't mind terribly if I— No, of course you wouldn't.' Slughorn got to his feet. 'I won't be ten minutes.'

Peter was astonished that this actually worked, that it was so easy to get Slughorn off to the kitchens. Almost angry, too, that Slughorn gets as hungry as he does, but— no time to think of that now.

Peter hurriedly rinsed off his hands and went straight to the edge of the desk, carefully picked up the first of the phials. A date on the bottom: Oct 1973. They all had dates in Slughorn's blotchy handwriting, and the latest was Jan 1975 — this month. Peter took that one.

Then he set about snooping. A man with bottles of memories must have a Pensieve somewhere. Instinct took Peter to the adjoining private chambers, which smelt of perfume and something sharper that he couldn't name. He found himself running his hands along the velvet bedcurtains as his gaze flicked about the room.

At last he found it, in a mahogany cabinet lined with even _more_ phials, all lined up and catalogued by date. Peter had used a Pensieve before; he quickly spilled the thick white memory in, and followed.

*

He is standing in a close, steamy bathroom with earth-coloured tile. The sink is beside him; he startles briefly at not seeing himself in the mirror.

He turns, and Slughorn is seated on a low chair beside the claw-footed tub, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. And sitting in the water with his knobby knees raised up is Regulus Black, entirely naked. Peter feels suddenly like his feet aren't touching the floor.

Slughorn is bathing him. He pours water from cupped hands over Regulus's brown hair, and when it's dark with wetness he looks even more like his brother. The boy blinks, eyelashes laden with droplets; he is nervous. Slughorn rubs his soapy hand over Regulus's shoulder blades, down his spine. Across his childishly smooth chest, his pink nipples that harden like buttons under Slughorn's wide palm. When he passes the flannel over his belly, Regulus jerks with a slight breath of a laugh. Slughorn smiles.

'We're quite clean now, aren't we,' he murmurs, his voice reverberating strangely off the tiles, in the memory. 'Yes, we certainly are,' he answers himself, and his hand disappears below the waterline. Regulus jerks again, gasps, narrow shoulders tightening.

Slughorn's hand works gently under the water, and he takes Regulus's chin in his other hand so tenderly that Peter is sure (with a twist of his gut) that he is going to kiss him, but instead he _looks_ , watches strained breaths escape the boy's red, wet lips, watches his long-lashed eyes close.

When it happens, Regulus's knees come together with a splash; he arches, and makes a ragged sound like crying out in sleep. Slughorn makes a soothing, hushing noise, and strokes Regulus's wet hair, his other hand still firmly between his thighs.

After that's done, Slughorn finishes bathing him. Regulus's eyes are still closed, and he shivers under his professor's hands.

Peter watches as long as he dares.

*

On pulling himself back into the bedroom, Peter put everything back exactly as he had found it, his hands trembling and his penis hard beneath his robes.

Slughorn returned shortly after, looking much more at ease, and Peter finished the last minutes of his detention in silence.

*

Peter stayed awake late that night in the cold dormitory, staring up into the reddish darkness above his bed. He would have liked to ask Remus if Pensieves could ever hold wishes, but hadn't dared.

Peter thought of Slughorn clasping Regulus on his skinny shoulder with a chuckle in the corridor earlier that day. He imagined Regulus in Potions class, glancing up and seeing the glimmering phials lined up innocently along the edge of the desk. He turned over onto his side, rubbed his eyes.

He couldn't help it. He touched himself restlessly, mind unsettled. Tried to think of himself in the claw-footed tub, languid, hands sliding over his skin— An intrusive image of displaced water spilling over the side.

In the end, he thought only of what he saw, of the movement of Slughorn's arm, of the arch of Regulus's pale back. Oh god. He bit his lip, and heard the echo of the ragged sound that Regulus had made.

As he finally relaxed into sleep, Peter thought of all those phials. Perhaps a hundred.

He'd never come up with enough excuses to be able to watch them all.

*

Remus helped him learn the Soporific Charm over the weekend, frowning his disapproval all the while.

It wasn't extraordinarily difficult to get into detention again; he put something disgusting into Snape's cauldron, and let himself be caught. Then a simple matter of waiting until Slughorn was looking the other way, and putting him out with a whispered word.

Peter picked random phials to check the dates, which seemed to extend back to the beginning of his teaching career. There was one tucked away in the back of the cabinet, the only one not in neat formation with the rest, as though Slughorn had wanted to forget about it but couldn't bring himself to throw it away. The date was Sep 1944.

*

He is standing in the same room, Slughorn's bedroom, but it is differently decorated and a different time of day. A younger Slughorn is lying, sated, on the bed. Peter has never seen a fat naked body other than his own, and is somehow surprised. His chest sags, and the meeting of his thighs to his arse is a deep dark crease.

He is gazing fondly at the marble-bodied adolescent who is reclining like a disdainful god nearer the headboard. It's no one Peter recognises.

'All these noontime "detentions" are beginning to reflect on my academic record,' says the boy.

Slughorn chuckles and rolls over to caress his indifferent lover's thigh. 'You might take it as a compliment, Tom, that some days I simply can't wait until the end of classes to have a taste of you.'

Tom regards him coolly. 'Even if it means missing your lunch?'

'Heavens, you're mouthy today. No wonder you get so many detentions.'

'My prick gets so many detentions,' Tom corrects him.

'Oh, now, that tears it.' Slughorn pushes himself up to a sitting position and grasps Tom's legs, pulling him playfully towards him. His soft belly rolls easily when he moves. 'That just tears it.'

'What are you— What—'

Tom stammers in disbelief but doesn't put up a genuine struggle as his long limbs are collected and he's put over his professor's knee.

'I'm meant to be disciplining you, after all,' Slughorn says, gently rubbing the smooth arse under his palm. 'Perhaps I ought to start. Have you been dreadfully naughty, Tom?'

Tom twists his neck to look up at Slughorn, and a slow, wicked smile comes over his face. 'I think it's safe to say I have been.'

'It's almost hard to believe,' Slughorn muses, brushing the fingertips of his other hand over the boy's lips. 'To have such a pretty mouth, and have such dreadful things come out of it.'

Peter jerks at the first hard slap, and Tom lets out an undignified yelp of surprise.

Slughorn rubs his arse again, which is already starting to flush red. Tom puts his head down. Two smacks in quick succession, and Tom bites his lip, but doesn't make another sound.

It's nothing at all like the occasional half-hearted punishments Peter's father used to give, not a steady smack-smack-smack and then you're done. Slughorn doesn't provide a pattern for Tom to get used to, spaces out the slaps in between caresses. Tom spreads his thighs obligingly when Slughorn reaches down to finger him; he spanks the backs of Tom's thighs as well, until he's blushing red from his cheeks to the pits of his knees. Slughorn is flushed too, and soon they're both grinding against each other, breathing heavily.

Just as Peter is realising that the present-day Slughorn won't stay asleep much longer, the one before him stops and pushes Tom up to his feet. The boy wobbles, but steadies himself. His prick is half-hard.

'Now, if I'm not mistaken,' Slughorn says breathlessly, 'you've a class to get to.'

'Yours,' Tom says, his reddened face showing puzzlement.

'Indeed,' says Slughorn, and points to the rumpled school uniform lying on the floor. 'And I shall expect you to sit still and behave during the full two hours of it.'

*

Peter felt himself suddenly toppling head over heels, and then falling to the floor of the bedroom in the evening, in the present, with the white-haired Slughorn standing over him.

He scrambled to his feet, grabbing to bunch up his robes and hide his erection. To his astonishment (and strangely, further terror), Slughorn appeared annoyed rather than enraged.

'Well, there's one thing you're good at. Poking around in other people's business.'

'I'm sorry,' Peter managed to get out. He was shaking. 'I'm— I'm sorry.'

'It's very wicked of you, wanting to look at things like that.'

And at that moment he felt like he was tumbling again, and he knew, he _knew_ he was going to be put down and spanked, and be naked belly-to-belly with someone, and be clasped on the shoulder in the corridor and chuckled at indulgently. He shivered. He was still hard.

'Get out,' Slughorn said wearily, and turned to go back out into his classroom.

Peter's mouth hung open stupidly. He seemed to be choking on his own tongue for a moment, but then managed to say to Slughorn's back, 'I'll tell. I'll tell someone.'

'Cheers,' said Slughorn. 'Enjoy being thought an envious lunatic, as well as a poor bastard of no family or particular talent.'

Still trembling, Peter ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, his lungs and legs burning by the time he got to the base.

It was a foolish thing to do: He was in agony as he dragged himself, breathless, up the five flights to the dormitory and his bed.


End file.
